


Last Nights of the Empire

by tadi



Category: Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: M/M, Mind Control, Non-Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:12:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3071093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tadi/pseuds/tadi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few scenes we didn't get to see in Emperor Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during and after the "Emperor Stark" episode of Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes. There is non-consensual sex due to mind control, so be warned.

When Tony comes home, Steve is waiting for him.

It's late - ruling the world, as it turns out, is a demanding occupation and Tony has come home late every night for the past month - and Tony is exhausted both with the tasks that the Purple Man has set him and his mostly-futile attempts to resist doing them. When he sees Steve, standing at parade rest, eyes shining violet in the dimly lit room, his first reaction is blank confusion.

"What are you -" he begins and they are his own words, unfiltered and unprompted.

"Tony," Steve says, and his eyes meet Tony's and the heat in them is unmistakable, even through the eerie, purple glow. Tony can feel the purple rising up inside him, too, tightening its hold like a silken vise.

Tony swallows and that small part of him that is still free shivers with slow, sick realization. Steve takes a step towards him and Tony tries to take a step back but his body is not his own anymore and he does not move as Steve prowls closer, all smooth, predatory grace weighted with muscle and strength.

"I've been waiting," Steve says, as if that hadn't been obvious, and he tugs on Tony's tie to pull him towards the bed. The Purple Man trails along in their wake, closing the bedroom door behind him before settling into a cat's sprawl on a couch near the window.

Tony clenches his jaw. "Don't do this," he says. He can't turn his head to look, but they all know who he is speaking to. It doesn't matter; the Purple Man doesn't bother with a response and Tony does not try to demand one. He can't tell if this is due to a lack in his own will or an overabundance of the Purple Man's.

Steve is still holding onto Tony's tie and now he tightens his grip, looping the end of it around his hand and pulling Tony towards him. Tony closes his eyes, feeling his breath stutter and then speed as Steve reels him in. 

It takes only a few stumbling steps before he is pressed against Steve, scale mail links cold and hard under the hand he had raised as if to ward the other man off. Steve doesn't let go of the tie, instead sliding his free hand up the length of it until he can grip the knot, holding Tony in place.

"I've been watching," Steve breathes, leaning in so that his lips brush against Tony's ear, breath warm against Tony's cheek. "Watching  you ." He lowers his head to nuzzle at Tony's neck, just the lightest touch of his mouth, then a searing flick of his tongue as he nips at Tony's throat just under his jaw. Tony wants - he wants so much - to reach for Steve, to pull him even closer, to touch him, but he does not. He wants to push Steve away, to turn on the Purple Man and deny the heat of his blood, his aching hardness. He doesn't do that, either.

"God, Tony,' Steve says, his cheek pressed against Tony's and Tony can feel the warmth of Steve's skin, the coolness of the scaled cowl. When Steve turns his head to claim Tony's mouth, Tony leans into the kiss, parting his lips with a low groan. For a time there is only the wet heat of Steve's lips and tongue and the deeper heat rising in Tony, making him throb.

He can feel Steve tugging at his tie, strong fingers loosening the knot and then pulling it free. Steve holds it in both hands long enough to pull Tony in deeper for a long, breathless second and then he lets it drop. Their kiss never falters as Steve pushes Tony's jacket over his shoulders and starts to undo the buttons of Tony's shirt, unhurried but swift and sure with an easy dexterity that Tony should have expected. Tony shudders, desire warring with revulsion, and tries to draw back but the purple rises up and wraps him in a thick haze of languid compliance.

He is aware of Steve's tongue darting between his parted lips, aware of how Steve's thigh presses between his legs as Steve finishes with the buttons and lifts Tony's wrist to take his cufflinks off, breaking their kiss to press his lips to the skin just over Tony's pulse. Tony lets his head fall back, eyes sliding half shut as Steve repeats the gesture with Tony's other hand before finally stripping Tony's shirt and jacket off in one smooth motion. His fingers press against Tony's bare chest, trailing around the arc reactor in caresses so light that Tony can barely feel them and he shivers again, arching toward the touch. Steve chuckles, low and deep and Tony can feel his weight as he moves in closer and then there is a sudden damp heat as Steve takes one of Tony's nipples into his mouth.

Tony gasps, unable to stop himself, and Steve circles his tongue before nipping at Tony, the points of his teeth catching Tony in a high, sweet sensation that lies somewhere on the borders of pleasure and pain. Then Steve moves lower, dropping to one knee as his mouth lays a damp path down Tony's belly and his hands come to rest on the buckle of Tony's belt.

Tony's tenuous control, that has held him still this long and through more provocation than he had ever thought he could withstand, slips a notch and he cannot help but lift his hands to caress Steve's head, the kevlar and leather smooth and slick under his palms. Steve pauses long enough to reach up and sweep the cowl back and Tony runs his fingers through his hair, reveling in the softness of it, the reality of it, even as he wants to scream at himself to stop.

Steve looks up at Tony with those damned purple eyes for a long moment before lowering his head once more as he slips Tony's belt free of the buckle. Tony tightens his grip in Steve's hair and somewhere in there is the thought that he can still stop this, that he  must stop this, but the purple is rolling over him in heavy waves and Steve is unbuttoning his slacks and reaching in to take Tony in his hand and the first touch of bare skin -  Steve's bare skin - against Tony's aching hardness steals the last of Tony's resistance from him and he shudders and strokes Steve's hair and tells him: "Yes, God yes."

Steve makes a guttural sound low in his throat that might be approval or agreement or maybe just a growl and then he leans forward to run his tongue up the length of Tony's cock in one hot, wet swipe. Tony bites back a shout and has to fight to keep his knees from buckling. Steve makes another noise that Tony is pretty sure is a chuckle before doing it again, this time pausing to run his tongue in a smooth, teasing circle at the head.

Tony strokes his hand down the back of Steve's neck, not pressing but wanting to, wanting to bury himself in Steve's mouth, to feel that wet heat around him. Steve pulls back to breathe on Tony's moistened skin and Tony's fingers tighten and they have to be biting into Steve but the other man doesn't flinch or complain.  Instead, his lips curl up in a half smile and he leans closer and takes Tony in in one smooth glide, throat working as he swallows around Tony's cock. Tony groans and his hips buck and Steve just rocks forward to take Tony even deeper.

"Ah, Steve!" Tony gasps and there is something else he should say, something he should do, or not do, but he can't think beyond the sensation of Steve's mouth wrapped around him, his tongue curling along Tony's shaft each time pulls back. It's good, so good; hot and wet and deep and he can feel his balls tightening, drawing up and its too much, too soon. He wants...

Tony lets his hands fall to Steve's shoulders his grip skittering over the smooth mail, and he tugs. Not hard - it's not like anything Tony could do would be hard enough to  make Steve stop - but enough for Steve to notice. He pulls off in a slow, slick slide, letting his tongue swirl over the head of Tony's cock, and looks up, panting, with his lips red and wet.

Tony just tugs again and Steve gets the hint, standing in one easy motion, and he lets Tony pull him down into a kiss, hard and fierce, tongues duelling. Tony can taste himself mixed with the more subtle, clean taste of Steve. "Bed," Tony manages when they break apart, breathing hard. He stumbles backwards, kicking off his shoes and getting his pants the rest of the way off as he does so and Steve follows him in a slow, deliberate stalk.

Tony watches, fascinated, and when the edge of the bed catches the back of his knees he falls backwards, catching himself on his elbows and not looking away for even a second. Steve smiles, and even that is predatory and sharp toothed, and he reaches up to undo the fastenings on his tunic, pulling it off and letting it slide to the floor. The muscles in his chest ripple with the motion, beads of sweat already starting to slick down his chest and the hard flatness of his belly and Tony runs his tongue over his suddenly dry lips.

"You like what you see?" Steve asks, his voce low and husky. He moves in close, putting one knee on the bed next to Tony's thigh and leaning over Tony's nearly prone form. Tony can feel the heat radiating off of him, can smell the heady musk of his sweat and desire. He tips his head back as Steve leans in to kiss him and somewhere in the electric thrill of Steve's lips and tongue, Tony finds the presence of mind to reach down between them to fumble blindly at the waistband of Steve's trousers.

He makes little progress before Steve draws back, ignoring Tony's protests, and does the job himself, wriggling out of the tight leather and pulling his boots off with clumsy haste. Tony props himself up on one elbow to watch, admiring the play of muscle in Steve's back and shoulders. Steve finally gets the second boot off, tossing it to the floor a bit harder than seems necessary, and turns back to him and Tony's breath catches at the sight of him, his cock hard and glistening against a thatch of golden hair, his skin smooth and taut and God, how often had he dreamed of this?

"Beautiful," he manages in a low growl, and Steve grins and crawls back up the length of Tony's body, pressing them together, undulating against Tony in a slow wave that has Tony crying out and arching up to meet Steve. It feels so good, the slide of Steve's cock against his own, the weight of Steve pinning him down to the mattress, Steve's mouth trailing kisses down his throat. Tony slides his arms around Steve, pulling him closer, and giving Tony enough leverage to thrust up into him.

Steve pants against him, his hips stuttering and then rolling smoothly to meet Tony's. "Ah... yes..." he manages between gasping breaths.

"Fuck, Steve,' Tony groans, feeling himself beginning to lose control. Each stroke brings him closer and closer, heat pooling at the base of his spine as his heart races. He reaches up with one hand to cup the back of Steve's head, drawing him in for another fierce kiss, sucking hard, and Steve goes rigid above him, eyes rolling back.

"Nnngh, Tony!" Steve chokes out, shuddering, and wet heat spills over Tony's belly. He groans, and thrusts once, twice more before going over the edge himself with a sharp cry, the world whiting out in a haze of pleasure, tinged with purple.

***

Tony comes back to himself some time later to find that he is lying on his side with Steve's arm draped loosely over his chest and Steve's face pressed against the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. He is still naked, and his stomach itches with their drying come. He closes his eyes, briefly, trying hard not to shudder, and then carefully slides out from Steve's embrace to sit on the edge of his bed.

Steve makes a soft noise of protest, and then rolls onto his stomach, his breathing deep and even. Asleep, or so deep in the purple as to make no difference. Tony watches him, seeing his mussed hair and the pink tinge on his cheek.  There are marks on his back - already healing - that Tony doesn't even remember making. He stares for a long time and when he looks away he lowers his head into his hands, his eyes stinging with shame and guilt.

God, what he would give to just be able to end this.

He looks up only when he hears footsteps approach, soft and nearly silent and yet they ring with something more than sound, something that Tony can't ignore. He feels his lips pull back in a snarl and he coils himself to attack, to spring at the Purple Man. There is no thought behind it except pure, mindless hate and it is maybe that that lets him get almost as far as his feet before the purple clamps down hard.

His eyes roll back with the force of it and he sways and then falls back heavily onto the bedside. Behind him, Steve doesn't so much as stir.

The Purple Man shakes his head, tsking softly. He leans close, his hands settling on Tony's shoulders as light as a cool breeze. "Really, you should thank me," he murmurs, lips brushing the edge of Tony's ear. "You've wanted this for so long."

Tony feels the leash slip just a little and he shudders and tries pull away but the Purple Man digs in with talon-like fingers and the harder claws of his mind and he is held fast. "Please," Tony manages. He has always thought that he had too much pride, too much  iron in him to beg but it turns out that all he needs is the right motivation. "I'll do anything. You can have me, any way you want. Just let him -" But the words are choked off before he can finish and the Purple Man is laughing, his breath hot and damp against Tony's exposed throat.

"Oh, my dear, but I've always preferred to watch." He runs a long finger down the side of Tony's face in a parody of a caress. "And I'm not nearly done with this game, All those things you've want to do with him.  To him! And he never even knew..." The finger circles down to rest just below Tony's lower lip and the voice turns thoughtful. "What do you think he would say if I let him out, just a little bit? If I told him this was all your idea?"

"You won't," Tony says, and his voice is tight and strained but the Purple Man lets him speak.

"Oh?" The Purple Man arches an eyebrow.

"He'd kill you," Tony says flatly.  And me too , he thinks with both dread and something darker and touched with despair.

"I suppose you're right," the Purple Man says, frowning. "Still. One can wonder." He takes a step back from Tony, letting his control tighten once more and Tony feels the wave of purple rise up inside him again, bright and soothing and he struggles only for a brief, furious second before it pulls him under once more and all thoughts of resistance and self wash away.


	2. Two

Steve curls his fingers in Tony's hair, stopping just short of actually pulling, and lets his head fall back against the pillows, his eyes slipping shut as all of his focus goes to the wet heat of Tony's mouth around his cock. "Tony, that feels -" he gets out between strained breaths and then he has to stop, swallowing a groan as Tony takes him even deeper and Steve can feel the muscles of Tony's throat working around him. Unable to help himself, Steve arches his back until Tony lays a hand against his belly, not pushing but settling Steve, grounding him so that he eases back, panting.

"Mmm. Nice," the Purple Man purrs from where he is sitting, sprawled sideways across an armchair on the other side of Tony's penthouse bedroom at Stark Tower. Reflexively, Steve turns his head to look at him but the Purple Man just gives him a languid wave. "Oh, don't stop on my account." He has pulled the chair into a pool of mid morning sunlight and is watching them - Steve and Tony - with avid interest, his lips parted and the fingers of one hand tracing idle circles across his own chest.

Taking the Purple Man's words at face value, Steve turns his attention back to Tony, who has only just started to respond to the interruption, pulling off Steve to look up at him with questioning purple eyes. For an instant, that purple flickers, flashes of brown showing through and Steve feels a strange, uncertain lurch in his chest, a feeling of ( wrong, this is all wrong ) but then Tony is blinking and the purple, cool and safe and comforting, is back. Steve lets go of Tony's hair to run a hand down his cheek, following the line of his jaw, smooth skin and the soft bristle of his facial hair against Steve's fingers.

Tony leans into the touch, turning his face to kiss Steve's palm, and then lowers his head to mouth at Steve, working a slow, teasing path up the shaft of Steve's cock, pausing with his lips just barely brushing the head. He's balanced on his knees and one elbow now and his free hand slips between them to first cup Steve's balls and then reach behind them, clever fingers brushing against sensitive skin. Steve inhales sharply at that barely-there touch and he makes what he hopes is an encouraging noise, spreading his legs wider.

Tony doesn't need any further hint; he's already stroking harder, fingers working their way back to circle and gently press as Steve gasps and murmurs approval at each touch. "God, Steve," Tony says, his voice low and hoarse. "I want - Can I -" He lifts his head again and once more his eyes are fading from purple to brown and back again and the muscles in his jaw clench and tremble as if he's fighting for words.

"Yes," Steve breathes. "I - I want you to..." And he does; arousal spiking hot and purple in him even as something in the back of his head watches that strange flicker in Tony's eyes and starts to stir.

"I -" Tony says and his eyelids flutter and then close and his body goes rigid; his hand stills and there is a brief moment when something slips and Steve looks up at Tony with alarm and shock and  what am I doing? and then Tony's eyes open again and the purple is back and bright and everything is right. Tony smiles down at him, that crooked grin that he only shares with Steve, and then sits back on his heels, still kneeling between Steve's legs.

"How - I mean, what should I..." Steve trails off, uncertain even with the purple heat urging him on. "I've never..." And he can't even get the confession out through the confusion of want and need.

"Like this," Tony says, pushing gently at Steve's side. "Roll onto your stomach; it's -" Another shudder, and another flicker of brown, this one so fast that Steve barely notices it. "It's easier, if this is your first time."

Steve lets Tony guide him, turning so that he's face down, his hands resting on either side of his head, and one leg drawn up, knee bent. He feels vulnerable and the uncertainty is beginning to come back but Tony runs gentle hands down his back, and follows them with his mouth, leaving a hot trail of kisses and Steve melts into it, letting out a soft growl and flexing his hips to press his aching cock against the sheets.

Then Tony pulls back and Steve can feel his weight shift on the bed. He wants to look and starts to push himself up but a barely audible "Stay," from the Purple Man has him sinking back down, breathing in slow, deep breaths and waiting. Tony is gone only a few seconds, anyways, settling back between Steve's legs with one hand pressed flat and warm against Steve's lower back and the other, now slick and wet, sliding between his legs.

Steve closes his eyes, concentrating on the sensations as Tony first circles one wet finger and then presses it inside him, pushing past the tight ring of muscle. It feels strange, but not unpleasant. Tony leans down to whisper soft encouragement in Steve's ear, his finger still working, sliding in and out in a slow rhythm that makes Steve's heartbeat quicken.

Steve can feel sweat starting to bead along his back when Tony eases in a second finger and now he can feel the stretch of it, his body flexing and yielding to Tony's touch. It's almost too much; not painful, but as if his every nerve was awakening, his whole body responding to what Tony is doing. He can feel his cock throbbing against his belly as Tony twists his fingers, stroking the tension out of Steve in slow, careful increments.

"Enough of that," the Purple Man says from somewhere behind Steve. Steve can hear footsteps approaching, leather soles tapping on hardwood floors. "Let's move things along, shall we?"

Tony doesn't stop, still pressing in with the same deliberate care, but Steve can feel a sudden tension in the weight against his back, a shudder wherever their skin touches.

"I said, enough!" Sharp enough now that even Steve can feel it, even though it wasn't meant for him, and Tony goes still and rigid, making a quiet choking noise, before he pulls back, slipping his fingers free. There is movement, Tony shifting his weight, and then something thicker and blunter replaces the fingers, nudging against him and Steve can't stop his shiver of anticipation and want and apprehension.

"Easy," Tony is saying, pushing forward. "Just - easy. It's okay."

Steve fists his hands in the sheets, bracing himself as he feels Tony begin to enter him. He's big, so much bigger than his fingers and the slow stretch turns to a deep burn and then pain, sharp and tight as Steve's body clenches and spasms around the intrusion. Steve gasps, muscles in his shoulders jumping as his fingers tighten.

"Easy," Tony says again, curling over Steve and stroking one hand down his back. His voice is hoarse and breaks slightly as if he is in pain. "Don't - don't fight it."

"Well now," the Purple Man says. Steve can hear him circling them, slow and leisurely, but he keeps his face pressed against the coolness of the pillows, not looking. "This is... disappointing. Surely you can do better."

"Please!" Tony says, and Steve doesn't know if the cry is meant for him or the Purple Man. Then Tony's hips roll and Steve is the one crying out as the head of Tony's cock breaches him in one sharp thrust. For an instant there is only pain, wrenching up through the core of him, and Tony's harsh, sobbing breaths, and the Purple Man's quiet laughter.

"I give you everything you ever wanted and still you try to resist me," the Purple Man says, sounding almost admiring. "But it's really all for nothing, you know."

Tony groans, and the hand that brushes down Steve's back this time is shaking. "Please," he whispers, and the Purple Man just laughs again.

"Go on, then," he says. Indulgent, like he's being generous. "Take your time. We both want the Captain to enjoy this, after all."

The press of Tony inside him eases a little as Tony pulls back. Not all the way; just enough that the ache retreats and Steve feels some of the tautness in his back and shoulders ease. Tony leans over him and presses soft kisses against the back of his neck, trailing up to curl his tongue around the curve of Steve's ear. "It's okay," he murmurs, voice shaking only a little now. "I promise, I won't - I don't want to - please, just -"

His hand is still stroking down Steve's back and side, gentle and soothing and Steve begins to relax. There is no pain now, only a tight pressure stopping just short of discomfort and a slowly building ache that has nothing at all to do with hurt, this time. He feels himself growing hard again, and isn't quite certain when he had lost his erection in the first place.

Steve's hands loosen, letting go of their death grip on the sheets, and his body feels warm and loose and this time when Tony pushes forward - slow but steady - Steve's gasp is one of dawning pleasure and he rocks backwards onto Tony, feeling the easy slide as Tony fills him, his hips tight against Steve's ass.

For a long moment they are still, neither of them willing or able to move, and then Tony pulls back a little, and presses in again, gently at first, but building to a steady rhythm that Steve rises to meet out some deep, primal instinct. Without breaking the rhythm, Tony settles himself above Steve, planting his hands on either side of Steve's elbows and letting his body drape over Steve's back.

Steve can feel Tony's chest against him, the cold hardness of the arc reactor, the heat of his breath as his lips brush against Steve's shoulder blade, something wet and just as warm splashing against the skin a little above that and Tony is whispering, soft and urgent at the same time: "Like that, just like that, oh," and "So good," and "Steve, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

And then Tony shifts somehow, changing the angle of his thrusts and Steve is gasping, arching up into Tony as each stroke sends bright sparks across his vision. Tony is panting hard against him and everything narrows down to the heat of Tony against him and in him and even the purple recedes as the sparks flare into a brilliant crescendo.

He feels himself tense as he loses himself in that wave of ecstasy and somewhere in the back of his mind he is aware of Tony's thrusts growing ragged and erratic and then stilling completely as Tony groans and pulses deep within him. Still breathing hard, Steve closes his eyes and listens to his own pounding heart.

* * *

He comes back to himself when Tony disengages, an uncomfortable tug that makes Steve suddenly aware of the sweat cooling on his back and the stickiness of the sheets under his belly. He rolls over onto his side, feeling a little unsteady.

Tony is flat on his back next to Steve, his arms and legs sprawled haphazardly, as if he has just let them lay wherever they happened to fall. His eyes are completely brown now and the Purple Man is leaning over him, trailing one finger through the dampness on his cheeks. Steve frowns; he wants to reach out and knock that hand away, but he doesn't know why. Instead, he watches as the Purple Man finally draws back, touching his fingertip to his tongue.

His eyes meet Steve's and he smiles. Steve tries to smile back but can't quite manage it; the Purple Man is showing too many teeth and Steve doesn't like the way that he is standing over Tony. He looks possessive, like Tony is something he owns and isn't going to share.

"Leave him -” Steve starts and then subsides, confused. What had he been going to say?

The Purple Man goes still, eyes narrowing just a fraction. He stares at Steve for a long second before he shakes his head with a quiet laugh. "I don't think so," he says. "For all your martial prowess, you don't have enough fight in you."

"Don't be so sure," Tony says from beside Steve, the words breathless, like he's forcing them out.

The Purple Man only smiles. "Ah, my dear Anthony." He leans in, close enough that Steve can feel the heat of his body as he whispers: "There isn't enough fight left in any of you."

Tony shudders, throat working as if he is struggling to speak but he says nothing. The Purple Man watches him intently for a long moment before straightening. He flicks one hand casually down the front of his shirt, brushing off dust or dirt that must, from the impeccable state of his clothing, be wholly imaginary. Then he makes a slow show of adjusting his cufflinks. His eyes never leave Tony's and in the end it is Tony who shudders and looks away first.

Steve reaches out with a tentative hand; Tony has turned his head to face him but his gaze is fixed on something distant and unseen. Tony makes no move to avoid Steve's touch and the Purple Man gives no command to stop it and Steve lets his hand settle on Tony's bare shoulder, feeling warm skin against his palm.

Tony isn't happy, he thinks, and he wonders why. He should be happy; everyone should be. Everything was good now. Everything was... purple. But Tony isn't. And if Tony isn't happy, Steve is starting to wonder if  he  should be. He darts a glance at the Purple Man even as he thinks the traitorous thought but the Purple Man seems oblivious. He has wandered to the edge of the room and is leaning with one arm propped against the couch while he looks out the window over his city.

Steve lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and jostles Tony's arm a little, hoping to garner some reaction to shake him out of this dangerous introspection. Tony blinks and his eyes focus and then something in them softens. He looks, if anything, even more sad.

"It's okay," Steve blurts out, not sure what 'it' is, just knowing that he has to make that haunted hollowness in Tony's eyes go away. "Tony, everything's okay."

Tony laughs, a soft bitter sound that has nothing of humor in it. "It really isn't," he says, barely louder than a whisper. Then he swallows and gives Steve a shaky smile and he reaches out toward Steve, letting his fingers just barely brush against Steve's chest. But that's good, because Steve is touching Tony and Tony is touching Steve and maybe Steve can ignore the alarm that's flickering under the purple, that's trying to draw his gaze to the shadows under Tony's eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks and the tension in the muscles under Steve's hand.

Steve closes his eyes and doesn't know if he tries to cling to the safety and comfort of the purple or to push it away. For a long time he can only lie there, thinking that there is something he desperately needs to do but he cannot remember what it is.

After a while, the Purple Man leaves and Tony lets Steve pull him closer so that he is lying against Steve's chest with his head tucked under Steve's chin. The arc reactor casts a cool blue light over Steve's belly, spilling over onto the rumpled sheets beneath them.

Steve can feel Tony's heartbeat, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the almost imperceptible vibration of the arc reactor - a microscopic hum that sets Steve's nerves alight whenever he touches Tony. Or maybe that's just Tony. Steve wonders why it took so long for them to fall into bed together; he feels as if they have been on the edge of this since they first met.

He can remember that meeting - just months ago - only dimly. Everything from before is like that - faint and distant, like he's looking back through fog. The now, the purple, is real and clear and for some reason this makes him uneasy. Makes him feel like there is something wrong. He frowns, running one hand absently down Tony's back, thinking again that there is something he has forgotten. Something that he needs to -

And then Tony is stirring, starting to pull away, and Steve reflexively tightens the arm he has draped around Tony's waist. "Don't go," he says, knowing that it is most likely futile. It's a rare night that Tony isn't called away by the Purple Man and that's fine, of course, but tonight... Steve thinks he would like just one night where he has Tony to himself and the idea makes him shiver with both want and guilt.

He is already loosening his grip, bracing for disappointment, when Tony relaxes, letting Steve pull him back down. He doesn't say anything and Steve doesn't push him. He'll take what he can get of Tony; he'll take what the Purple Man gives him. Steve shakes his head a little. There is something wrong with that thought, but again he can't quite put his finger in it.

And he doesn't really want to; not now with Tony warm and solid in his arms and the slow muzziness of sleep dragging him in. It probably doesn't matter, anyway; everything's okay, everything's always okay, since the Purple Man came.

Steve lets his eyes drift shut, feels his breathing slow and deepen and he has almost drifted off when Tony speaks quiet and low like he's worried he might be overheard.

"I need you to do something for me, tomorrow," he says.

"Mmm?" Steve answers, not bothering to wake enough for actual words.

Tony is silent for a long second, long enough that Steve wonders if  he has fallen asleep. Then: "Go to the mansion, to my lab. There's something... something I left running. I need you to check on it."

Steve yawns. "'Kay ," he says, only vaguely aware that he is agreeing to something.

"And don't tell anyone," Tony adds, something urgent creeping into his hushed tone. His hand is rubbing slow circles on Steve's bare chest. "It's a secret."

"Won't," Steve mumbles, covering Tony's hand with his own, stilling it and Tony doesn't stop him. The last thing Steve is aware of before sleep takes him is Tony turning his hand inside Steve's to twine their fingers together, holding tightly to him and not letting go.


	3. Three

They didn't talk about it, after. The closest they came was that evening on the rooftop and then it had still been too close, too raw for Tony to put it into words except in the most oblique fashion ( everything the Purple Man needed to control me was already inside me ) and Steve either felt the same or had enough respect for Tony's feelings to leave the subject alone.

After that it seemed like they were seldom in the same room, much less alone together. Tony was busy trying to pick up the mess left by his unwilling world takeover and Steve was trying to repair the Avengers' tarnished reputation and if both of them sometimes spent more time in their respective tasks than seemed strictly necessary... well, the work was important. At least, that was what Tony told himself as he drove himself again and again to the brink of exhaustion and beyond.

Tony had dreamt that first night after he had left Steve alone on the roof - a blurred mix of memory and lust that was half nightmare and half wet dream. He had woken sweating and achingly hard and he had barely managed to stumble out of bed and into the bathroom before he was on his knees, fingers clutching at cold porcelain as he heaved his guts up into the toilet. Better to be too tired to remember. Too tired to dream.

And at first it had worked. There had been plenty to do; enough meetings and PR and cleanup to keep a hundred Tony Starks occupied and there had certainly been days where Tony felt like he had done the job of every one of those hundred. And if was cowardice to be be glad that he hadn't so much as a spare moment to reflect, or to be relieved at the oblivion of a few hours of dreamless sleep snatched only when exhaustion forced him down, well, Tony had never thought of himself as a brave man

'Coward' was really the kindest description of what he was, anyways. There were other names, he knew, for men like him. For men who had done the things he had done. He knew all of them; he'd called himself every single one.

The downside, of course, of putting so much of his time into his work was that eventually there would be nothing left to do, which was how he found himself prowling the halls of the mansion at three am, too tired to start another project and too wired and over-caffeinated to rest, desperately trying to think of something that needed to be done so that he wouldn't have to be alone with his thoughts.

The place was quiet, no one else awake at this hour. Tony hadn't really talked to anyone else about their experiences under the Purple Man's control but the other Avengers seemed to have adjusted easily enough. The Purple Man had spent most of his time with Tony, after all. It was as if he had naturally gravitated towards the Avengers' weakest link. At any rate, it meant that no one else was sharing his sleepless nights and he wasn't sure whether that made him feel grateful or just alone.

He padded through the silent living quarters, eyeing the dark television but leaving it untouched and veering away from the kitchen where the lure of more coffee sang a quiet siren's song. He ended up hovering outside the library where the thought of a good book and the bottle of Glenfiddich he kept in the top drawer of his desk sang a completely different and more seductive song.

He put a hand on the door and had a sudden vision of his father, drunk and raging, and a small voice in the back if his head asked if this was how he wanted to solve his problems. Then he remembered the Purple Man, whispering in his ear as Tony did things he'd always wanted and never, ever intended to Steve. He set his jaw, shoved the voice back down where it belonged, and pushed the door open.

The library was dark and still and Tony almost missed the shape that stood silhouetted in the faint light that came in through the windows from outside. He had taken two steps into the room and when he noticed the other occupant he stopped dead, his heart leaping up into his throat. He must have made some noise because the figure turned and the moonlight - well, streetlight, more probably, since this  was New York - glanced over Steve's hair in a sudden gleam of soft gold.

"Tony," Steve said.

"I, ah -" Tony started to retreat, fumbling for the door, which was still swinging shut, and thinking that Steve must have the night vision of an owl to have recognized him coming from the darkened hallway. "Sorry. I was just -"

"Don't go," Steve said. Tony froze, his hand on the doorframe.

He could just barely make Steve out but he could see that Steve was still in his uniform, the pushed-back cowl his only concession to comfort. Had he been out on patrol on his own? Or in the gym, training in the middle of the night? Tony felt a twinge - he'd been so obsessed with his own guilt that he hadn't paid any attention to what Steve had been doing.

"You've been avoiding me," Steve added, as if to echo Tony's thoughts, and Tony winced and then hoped that it was too dark for Steve to have seen the expression.

"I -" he began, a dozen lies ready to spring from his lips. I've been in meetings. Fixing the armor. Kidnapped by Dr. Doom. His shoulders slumped. "Yes. I have."

Steve said nothing at first and as the silence drew out and Tony's eyes adjusted to the dark he could make out the other man's level, assessing stare, so sharp that Tony felt like it could pierce to the very core of him. The weight of that look pressed on him and he wanted to falter beneath it, to turn away or just outright flee from the violent action that he was certain must follow. But he held his ground, not sure whether he did so out of guilt or sheer stubbornness, and at last Steve spoke, breaking the stillness that hung between them: "I wish you wouldn't."

The words seemed to break something other than the quiet, some barrier that had kept Tony where he was, pinned by the doorway like a butterfly to a collector's card. The drink he had come for forgotten, Tony crossed the distance between himself and Steve slowly but as surely as if they had been bound together. He wasn't sure if he was expecting a confrontation or a greeting but what he got was a slight nod and Steve turned to look back out the window, shifting over slightly to make room for Tony by his side. It was worth more than a thousand welcomes.

Tony settled in next to Steve, resting one hand on the window sill as they both looked out over the front lawn of Avengers mansion. The wide expanse of grass - wide for Fifth Avenue at least - was neatly mown and frosted with a silvery green sheen under the street lights outside the walls. Everything beyond was still and silent, even New York slumbering, at least in this tiny corner. Tony could feel Steve beside him, the solid weight if the man at his elbow a comforting anchor in spite of - or maybe in part because of - everything that had passed between them.

"We've all missed you," Steve said after they had stood there long enough for the quiet to settle back in but before it could turn uncomfortable. He looked sideways at Tony, a quick, darting glance that was almost furtive.

"I've been busy," Tony said, the lie coming out before he even realized he was going to speak He look down at his feet and then back up, forcing his chin to lift when it only wanted to be tucked against his chest. "And I thought you might not want to see me," he forced himself to add.

Steve turned his head to look full on at Tony, a frown creasing his brow. "Tony, no one blames you for any of it." 

"Really?" Tony kept his eyes fixed on the grassy expanse of the lawn, avoiding the steady blue regard of Steve's eyes. He struggled to keep his voice light.  "I wish you'd tell that to the Daily Bugle; Jameson's last editorial sounded like he was about ready to crucify me."

"No one who matters," Steve amended. He reached out to put a hand on Tony's shoulder and Tony's breath caught with a sharp hitch. Steve tensed, but didn't draw back and neither, to Tony's surprise, did Tony. "We all know what really happened."

Tony could feel the ease that had started to settle between them melting away, the knots in his shoulders tightening. "Yeah, we do," he said. He started to pull away and Steve's grip tightened, tight enough to hold him without being hard enough to hurt.

"I mean it," Steve said.  There was a gentle firmness on his voice that brooked no argument. "I saw how hard you fought him."

Tony set his jaw, refusing to let himself give in. "Not hard enough," he said flatly. "Not hard enough to to stop him, or to stop myself."

"Hard enough to keep him at your side night and day, so you wouldn't slip his leash," Steve countered. "Hard enough to give the rest of us a chance to break his hold."

It was too much, Steve's quiet understanding, Tony's own exhaustion and guilt. He shuddered, and knew that Steve had felt it. "I couldn't stop him," he said, his voice sounding small and weak. "I couldn't stop myself, Steve. God, I'm so sorry." 

"Tony," Steve said softly. He tugged on Tony's shoulder and Tony let himself be drawn around to face Steve, those earnest blue eyes boring into his own.

"I didn't want - not like - damn it," Tony stuttered. His chest felt tight and hot and he closed his stinging eyes, trying to regain some control. He drew in a slow, trembling breath and then, to his horror, started to cry. 

He swore again, and tried to turn away, to hide at least this much of his shame, but before he could, Steve pulled him into a rough embrace and Tony let himself collapse into it, going almost boneless in the strong circle of Steve's arms as he wept soundlessly against Steve's chest.

How long they stayed like that, Tony wasn't certain. After a while he became aware that he wasn't crying anymore and hadn't been for some time. He was still pressed tight against Steve, with one of Steve's hands tracing a soothing path up and down his back and his eyes felt hot and scratchy. His own hands were clutching at Steve's shirt, he realized, and, cheeks heating with embarrassment, he untangled his fingers from the cloth and drew back, scrubbing the back of one hand across his face in a vain attempt to hide the marks of the tears he had shed.

Steve let him go this time, not saying a word and Tony cleared his throat and fidgeted awkwardly with the cuffs of his sleeves. "I - uh - sorry," he managed, not quite able to bring himself to meet Steve's eyes. "I didn't mean to... any of that, really." God, what had he been thinking? The last thing Steve needed right now was to have to comfort Tony.

"It really wasn't your fault," Steve said, and there was a quiet emphasis that left no doubt as to what 'it' he was referring to.

Tony froze, darting a quick glance up at Steve through the lashes of his lowered eyes. There was nothing in the other man's face but a completely guileless concern. "I -" he started, intending to argue, and then winced as the corners of Steve's mouth crumpled. "Maybe," he hedged instead.

"I mean it," Steve insisted, and the earnestness in his voice was enough to break the heart of a stronger man than Tony was. He leaned in, not touching Tony but resting a hand on the window frame next to him so that he was mere inches from Tony's body. "You are not to blame for what the Purple Man made you do," he said, emphasizing each word. "None of the Avengers blame you, I don't blame you, and you shouldn't blame yourself."

Tony blinked at him, startled back into eye contact. "I'm not sure I know how to stop," he said at last. Steve's eyes narrowed and Tony hastily added: "I know I was acting under his control; doing what he wanted, but what he made me do -" He bit his lip. "I can't let it go. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

Steve gave him a searching look that made Tony all too aware of how he must look - unshaven, wearing clothes he'd put on two days ago and now with his eyes red and swollen and his cheeks damp and tear streaked. He shifted uneasily under that stare until Steve finally nodded slowly and - Tony thought - a bit reluctantly. "I hope you'll change your mind about that someday," he said. "You're too good a man to spend your life kicking yourself for something you had no control over."

"There are plenty of people who'd disagree with you about that, Cap," Tony said, surprised by how easily the nickname came to his lips. He tried to remember the last time he'd used it and failed.

"None of them know you like I do," Steve said, lips quirking in a half-smile and Tony recognized the irony of a man who had been unfrozen for less than a year - and had spent part of that time as a prisoner of the shape shifting aliens who were impersonating him - claiming to know Tony best. Except that it was really less ironic and more simple truth; Tony didn't have many close friends. Rhodey could probably claim to know Tony better than Steve, in some ways at least, but Tony couldn't think of anyone else who might say the same. "You're a far better man than you think you are, and I've never been anything but proud to call you my friend."

Tony swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "Are we?" he asked. He choked a little on the words and cleared his throat. "Still friends, I mean?"

Steve just gave him an open smile and clapped one broad hand on Tony's shoulder, fingers warm through the fabric of Tony's shirt. "Always."

Tony only hesitated a little, wondering if that was a shadow he saw in Steve’s face or just his imagination, before nodding and echoing Steve.  “Always.”  And if his voice betrayed any of his doubts, Steve gave no sign of noticing.


End file.
